Efficiency
by GratefulRene
Summary: This is GratefulInsomniac and RochelleRene's first endeavor to 'co-write' a fic together. It's not PWP, but it's a very porny plot, so at least pretend you're 18... Early to mid-S7. House wants to teach Cuddy to take her time.


"Here to celebrate," House announced as he walked into Cuddy's office.

"Celebrate _what_?" She looked up from her work, her cool professionalism wavering slightly as their eyes met and they shared the ragged zing of attraction that still existed at such an early stage in their relationship.

"Mutual success, victory…the destruction of frivolous, get-rich-quick lawsuits."

"Frivolous? I'm sure that man will never look at horses the same way again."

"You're the reason the whole thing was dropped. Admit it, some of the finest moments of your career have been inspired by me."

"Not so much inspired as necessitated."

"The point is that we're celebrating." He pulled a bottle of undoubtedly expensive scotch from a bag and held it out for her approval.

"I'm working," she argued.

"It's almost nine. We were supposed to get out of here three hours ago. Three hours that could have been filled with naked, sweaty fun, but have been wasted on this hospital."

"Three hours?" She arched an eyebrow at him.

"Appropriate breaks for recuperation, hydration and banter are obviously implied."

"Fine," she answered, her expression the unique combination of disapproval, flirtation and rebellion that he was so good at provoking. "But we'll need glasses…" He pulled two glasses from his bag and set them on her desk. "Ice would be nice," she added as he pulled out a disposable coffee cup full of ice that rattled when he shook it.

He noted her approval as he poured and replied, "I believe the words 'thoughtful' and 'proactive' are the ones you're looking for. Those two words also appear in nearly all of my yearly performance reviews." She was about to respond with the full force of her disbelief when he handed her a glass and whispered, ""Enough talking."

He sat back in the chair, swirling his glass for a moment before drinking. He savored the flavor and feeling of that one sip, pleased with his selection. He watched Cuddy as subtly as he could. She moved papers to appropriate piles, giving the ice time to transfer its chill. As soon as she was done putting away her work for the night, she picked up the glass, held it up for a moment in appreciation, and brought it to her lips. He was already anticipating the moment, wanting to watch her enjoyment. No sooner had the rim of the glass touched her lip than she tipped it back and finished the entire drink. She put the cup back down, the remaining ice clattering as it made contact. Her focus was on her desk, on making sure that she was ready to leave for the night. Once she was satisfied that everything was in place, she looked up at House. He was staring at her with a look of surprise and incredulity, but said nothing.

"What?" she asked.

"Did you even taste it?"

"Yes. It was great, thanks."

"You can't even take a minute to appreciate one of the finest beverages ever crafted?"

"I did appreciate it."

"This isn't some crappy shot that you have to choke down so you can catch a buzz." He pulled her glass toward him, pouring her a little more before giving it back. "Now," he instructed, "take a sip."

"I can't believe _you_ are encouraging paced consumption."

"Because this isn't about getting drunk, although if there is a lowering of inhibitions, I won't complain. This is about enjoying a drink, experiencing one of life's pleasures. You might as well mainline the one dessert per month that you allow yourself so you don't have to taste it, fast forward through the best scenes in a movie, or rush through masturbation just to…"

She was preparing a counter statement when she realized that he hadn't finished what he was saying. He was silently considering, clearly thinking about something that both horrified and amused him. He looked proud, like he'd just discovered another truth about her.

"You do, don't you?" he stated with certainty.

"I do…what?"

"You have a succinct, ritualized way of masturbating."

He saw just a tiny flicker of concern pass over her features before she sneered at him. "I'm not sure," she retorted. "I'll have to consult the Journal of Masturbatory Methods."

"He's standing right here." He grinned at her and swirled his glass again, studying her for clues to this new puzzle.

"That's right," she murmured absently. "I should have brought that up in court." She had returned her attention to a file on her desk. But she bit her lip. She didn't bite her lip with anything professional. She knit her brow or pursed her lips or tilted her head. But the lip-bite was always personal.

"How do you do it?" he pressed her.

She feigned ignorance about his train of thought and looked up briefly. "Do what?" she asked.

House shook his head. "Pardon the pun, but you're not getting off that easy, Cuddy."

Cuddy suddenly dropped the file folder and the act with a heavy sigh and stared at him. "How do I masturbate, House? What do you want me to say? How do _you_ masturbate?"

"Well, it depends. But I usually start one of two ways. I grab-"

"God! Ugh. Forget I asked. It was rhetorical, dummy."

House was beaming now. He'd just discovered a treasure trove of ways to annoy Cuddy, and they were sexual in nature, which made it all the better. "Maybe it's easier to just show you," he teased, starting to open his jeans.

"House!" Cuddy stood up and held both hands out in front of her in "stop" gestures. She took a shaky breath to compose herself. "All I need is someone walking in here to find you with your pants down the very day you were saved from a malpractice suit involving the use of porn as a diagnostic tool."

House sipped his drink to keep from laughing. "Then let's go home," he suggested. "Come on, get your stuff and let's go."

Cuddy threw a stack of papers in her recycling bin on her way to the coat hook. "Alright, alright. Keep your pants on."

[H] [H] [H]

Back at home, House had to bide his time while Cuddy spoke with the nanny and put away her things in their proper places. She always did it in exactly the same order, dropping her purse on the entryway table, sliding her phone out of the outside pocket, hanging her coat in the closet, then tap-tapping to the kitchen where she plugged her phone in on the charger. Then she kicked off her heels and carried them with her to the bedroom where she changed into something yoga-ish. House could practically predict the number of footsteps it took her to pad back to the kitchen and get a glass of ice water, which she sipped during the walk from the fridge to the barstool. Then she sat, leaned against the counter in front of her, and sighed. Every time. If she got home in time to see Rachel, there was a slightly modified routine that was equally predictable.

House leaned in the kitchen doorway and smirked at her.

"What?" she asked.

"You ever consider plugging your phone in _after_ you change your clothes?"

Cuddy raised an eyebrow. "Is this a metaphor?"

House ignored her. "Or getting your ice water first and sipping it on the way to the bedroom?"

She propped her head on one hand and looked at him. "What's your point, House?"

"You do everything the same way all the time."

"It's called a routine," she snipped. "It keeps things orderly. Efficient."

He walked over to the counter across from her and bent his tall frame to look her in the eyes. "It's called a rut." He stood up tall again and looked down at her triumphantly.

"So what? If I drink a glass of water before I plug in my phone my life will suddenly be ten times more exciting? I just figure out the best way to do things and stick with it," she explained defensively.

"Ah, ah, ah," House said, wagging a finger at her. "_Orderly,_ you said. _Efficient._ Those words are not synonymous with _best._"

Cuddy looked at him and was exhausted with his obsession. "Fine, House. Whatever. I'm boring and in a rut. But it works for me." She got up and went to put her glass in the sink.

"Does it?" he asked accusingly.

"Oh for God's sake. What are you getting at, you insane man?" She walked to a cupboard and began rummaging around for a snack. But House came up behind her and wrapped an arm around her waist. He bent his face into her hair and lightly kissed her neck. Cuddy felt her knees go weak and she arched back to lean against him. He ran his tongue up her neck to her jaw, which he peppered with kisses as he moved toward her mouth. Just when Cuddy parted her lips to grant him access, he murmured, "My point is that some things should be savored."

Cuddy's breath caught in her chest. "Point taken," she whispered.

But House abruptly stepped back and sat himself down at the counter now. "See, you say that, but I'm not sure you really get it."

Cuddy had to brace herself on the wall to recompose. "Sometimes I want to kill you."

He smirked at her. "Cuz I'm making you wait?"

Cuddy glared at him. He knew that kind of language always got to her. "You're not _making_ me do anything," she said coolly, turning back to the cupboard after glaring at him.

"I'm making you wait to get off."

"I don't need you for that," she predictably retorted.

"No. You just need three minutes."

Cuddy whirled around holding a box of crackers. "Who cares? An orgasm's an orgasm."

House stared at her, mouth agape. "You did _not _just say that."

Cuddy was chewing a cracker and said with her mouth full, "When you're alone? It basically is."

House grinned at her. "You're wrong. I'll prove it."

"Fine," she replied, sticking another cracker in her mouth. "Just let me carb load before this debacle."

House watcher her chomp while sticking her chin out defiantly. He fought the urge to whoop and maniacally rub his palms together. This was gonna be good.

[H] [H] [H]

House was sitting on the dresser top when Cuddy emerged from the bathroom in her lacy boy short panties and a tank top, rubbing lotion onto her elbows. He smirked at her when she met his eyes and arched an eyebrow. "Alright, Miss Efficiency. Let's see how it's done."

Cuddy dropped onto the bed and looked at him. "This is weird."

"No, plushies are weird. Necrophilia is weird. This is pretty standard stuff."

"It's standard if I'm trying to turn you on. This is... different."

"Let me be the judge of what turns me on." He grinned at her. Cuddy sighed heavily. "Pretend I'm not here," he encouraged.

"Pretend the six-foot man with a penchant for mocking people isn't here staring at my bed while I masturbate?" Cuddy groused.

House settled back further onto the dresser and crossed his arms over his chest. "Yeah."

Cuddy sighed again and closed her eyes as she lay back on the bed. House watched her chest rise and fall as she took several slow, deep breaths. He tried not to move a muscle for fear of disturbing the tenuous deal they had here. He was profoundly curious about this and didn't want to foil his opportunity. At one point Cuddy opened one eye and looked at him. House lifted his hands over his face in mock hiding and she closed her eye again.

Finally, Cuddy slid her hand into her panties. House quickly began taking mental notes. _Doesn't take her panties off… interesting._ He saw two of her fingers pressing against her clit. _Huh. Gets right to it. No shock there._ Cuddy's fingers moved against herself in a practiced motion. House could see the roll of increasing and decreasing pressure in her fingers, like a tiny wave under the lacy fabric. He saw the long, lean muscles in her thighs tense as she pushed her body against her own hand for more pressure.

He couldn't help that it was turning him on. He started to lean forward, wanting to see more, fighting the impulse to go to her. He was just getting in a more comfortable position for this voyeuring experience when he heard a tiny muffled moan from Cuddy's closed mouth, saw her knit her eyebrows for a moment, and then stop, relaxing into the bed and removing her hand from her panties. _Wait a minute… _Cuddy slowed her breathing and stretched a little. _Wait just a minute…_ She opened her eyes and looked at him, a triumphant little smirk on her face.

"What just happened?" House asked.

Cuddy propped up onto her elbows. "What do you mean?" she asked, guarded.

"That's it?"

"That's it," she confirmed. "I had a lovely orgasm."

"That was _not_ a lovely orgasm," House declared.

"How the hell would you know?" Cuddy accused.

"Because I've seen you have lovely orgasms. I've seen you have intense orgasms. I've seen you have stifled orgasms. I've seen you have sleepy orgasms. That, my friend, was… I don't even know what you call it… a bore-gasm."

"It wasn't meant to entertain you," Cuddy sniped.

"Was it meant to entertain you?" House couldn't help laughing. Cuddy huffed and pulled the covers back, sliding under them and turning on her side. "Aww," House said, hopping down from the dresser and limping to the bed. He lay down and scooted up against her. "I'm sorry your masturbation is so efficient."

"My masturbation is fine," Cuddy declared, shoving her shoulder back at him.

"Cuddy, I know how you hate when I lie to you… It isn't." He grinned at her and she looked over her shoulder and glared at him. "How long have you been doing it like that?"

"Like what?"

"Like it's something on your to-do list."

"It's how I've always done it, and it's fine."

"You've masturbated the same way since adolescence? Nothing's evolved? Grown more sophisticated?"

"It's not fashion sense or cooking skill, House. What worked at thirteen still works at forty-three," Cuddy pointed out. "Stop evaluating it, dammit. It's _my _masturbation and I never should have let you watch."

"It's a good thing you did!" House exclaimed. "Now that I know what I'm dealing with, I can fix you." He slid his hand over her belly tenderly.

Cuddy rolled over in his arms and narrowed her eyes at him. "You're diagnosing me?" House smirked at her. "So what's wrong with me, oh brilliant diagnostician?" she asked sarcastically.

"You have a near-fatal case of hyper-wound-tight-tis. It's a good thing we caught it in time." He started kissing her lips lightly, then her chin, her jaw. As he moved to her neck his kisses were getting more insistent, leaving redness along her pale skin where his beard scratched her. Cuddy rolled away from him again.

"Forget it," she said poutily. "I'm not interested after that fully-satisfying orgasm."

House smiled into her hair. "_I'm_ interested," he growled against her ear, pulling her hips tightly against his.

Cuddy harrumphed. "Well, maybe you should go do some of your expert self-love then."

House laughed again and propped on an elbow to see her pouty face. She was so funny when she was being a brat. "I'm healing you, remember? First treatment is reminding you what an actually-satisfying orgasm feels like." He slid his hand into her panties and ran his fingers along her sex. He saw her open her mouth to protest, but then nothing but an exhale emerged when he slowly slid his finger inside her.

"You're such an asshole," she moaned as she ground her pelvis against his hand.

He kissed her shoulder. "I know."

"And I hate you," she sighed, turning her head to meet his lips.

"I know," he said into her mouth. He continued exploring her heat with his hand, pressing his thumb against her clit. They were deeply kissing now, tugging gently at each other's lips, fast, hot breaths mingling as they got more and more excited. House felt her muscles starting to tighten around his fingers, her hips beginning to buck. He slowed a little, eased his pressure. It was so subtle, Cuddy didn't even know it was intentional. She shifted her hips slightly, as if they'd lost their angle or something. She laid her head back and he watched her face, eyes shut tightly, biting her bottom lip, pulse racing in her neck. He felt her thighs tense, saw the toes on her exposed foot curl. She was chasing her orgasm… and he was keeping it just out of reach.

Her fast breaths became audible, a high-pitched little plea with each exhalation. He leaned to her neck again, sucked gently on her earlobe. He answered her whimpers with his own appreciative moans, encouraging her, goading her. Cuddy had rolled fully onto her back now and was gripping the sheets, fucking his hand, dying for release. "You feel this?" he murmured in her ear. "You feel this need?" His fingers slid along the wet folds of her sex and Cuddy just squeaked in reply. "You gotta feel this first, Cuddy. For it to be good." He ran the tip of his nose along the bridge of hers. Her back was so arched she was practically levitating off the bed.

"Fuck," she breathed, one of her hands clamping onto his to direct him. But that was useless, as his was bigger and stronger. He kept his touch just a little too light, his speed just a little too slow. "This is what need feels like," he told her, nipping along her collarbone. Cuddy's breathing was shallow and rapid. House put his other hand in her hair and pulled lightly, closing his mouth over her chin, her bottom lip, her top lip. Then Cuddy opened her eyes and looked at him with such overwhelming desire, he had to give in.

"This is what good feels like," he said low in her ear, and he did exactly what she needed him to do, pressing exactly where and how she needed him to press, letting her body move against his fingers the way it craved. And Cuddy screamed. She screamed her release into the room and tears formed at the outer corners of her clenched eyes. She inhaled sharply and didn't let it out, just shaking against his body. House read her body and slowly, slowly ebbed his stimulation of her. Her shaking became trembling, then just occasional twitching as she lay sated against the mattress. He watched her recovery and bit his tongue, not wanting to ruin it yet.

When she had calmed enough that he was half-worried she was asleep, Cuddy opened her eyes. She frowned at him. "Shut up," she said plainly.

House smirked. "Tomorrow I'll teach you how to do that all by yourself, like a big girl."

[H] [H] [H]

Cuddy was completely focused on the three remaining things she needed to accomplish before the weekend. She was stepping onto the elevator, tapping her palm with her phone, when she heard him. "What are you doing? It's almost time to go."

She frowned, "It's four."

"Like I said, almost time to go."

"I told you, I can leave at five. The connection you always fail to see is that I would be able to leave earlier if you didn't create so much extra work. And if stuff isn't done, I'll be distracted, unable to really relax."

"I do prefer you undistracted." He'd been bothering her with little things all day. "I've been thinking," he said with near-prophetic intonation, "that maybe you're right."

"I wish that just once I'd hear you utter the words 'you're right' without feeling a sense of dread."

"I've decided that, for the next week, when we have sex, I'll try to come as efficiently as possible too. Like a race to see who wins."

Her eyes closed as she tried to suppress the expression of amused disbelief, "Okay, House."

"Think of the time we'll save. We can get more sleep. I can write journal articles. You can reorganize the DVDs…again."

He'd predicted different reactions, but he was pretty convinced that she'd do _something _to remind him of how much he wanted her, to remind him that two minutes of sex would never satisfy him. Hell, two weeks of continuous sex with her wouldn't satisfy him. She did that, in a way, but not in the manner he'd expected. She turned, leaning her back against the side of the elevator. With the slightest tilt of her head and tip of her hips, she asked, "Is that really what you want from me? A quick release so you can focus on your imaginary journal articles?"

He stared ahead, making all attempts to maintain a steely resolve, but a quick twitch in his eyebrow as he involuntarily scanned her body gave him away. He sneered a little, frustrated by his moment of weakness in response to so little effort on her part, and complained, "You could at least _try_ to act like that would be a bad thing for you too."

"Well, I'll leave it up to you. I can stand here in this elevator and soothe your wounded ego. Or…I can finish my work so we can go home and engage in far more exciting activities."

"I love more exciting activities," he answered as the door slid open.

Chase looked at each of them, House and Cuddy facing off, each at one side of the elevator in a battle the fellow was not prepared for. He stepped on, and then, feeling uncomfortable standing in the middle of whatever was happening, turned and stood as close to the back wall as he could.

Cuddy reached out, blocking the door when it started to close, "So is it alright with you if I go now, or do you need me to stay here and soothe?" House gestured for her to continue. "Good," she nodded, smiling at Chase. "Hopefully I can finish up on time in spite of this delay in my schedule."

She stepped off the elevator and heard House still arguing, "I couldn't have held you up for _that_ long. What was it, two…maybe three minutes?" The elevator door began to close, and he shouted, "It's not like you can accomplish anything good in three minutes anyway." Cuddy managed to turn back and slip a scowl between the elevator doors before they closed.

Chase watched House and the self-satisfied smirk that emerged as the elevator moved again. "You really do _enjoy _pissing her off, don't you? Intuitively, I'd think now that you're together, you'd want to piss her off less."

"She likes it," House answered unemotionally.

"She doesn't _like_ it."

"What would you know about what sh—"

"Forget it," Chase interrupted.

"I mean—"

"Stop, seriously. I don't want to know."

"What is it that you think I'm going to tell you?"

The door opened. "Whatever it is, I don't want to know," Chase said as he stepped past Wilson.

Before Wilson stepped on, House held up his hand, "I should warn you, the last two people to leave this elevator have been less than thrilled with their ride." Wilson thought for a moment, and then stepped on and pressed the button for the appropriate floor. "You're not at all worried about that?" House pressed.

"House, the last ten-thousand people you've been on an elevator with have been less than thrilled with their ride. I think I can handle it."

[H] [H] [H]

When she received a text from House telling her to come to his place, she was immediately hesitant. Her heart thudded in the nervous way he could elicit as she pulled up to his apartment.

He let her in as soon as he heard her polite little taps on the door. Immediately she scanned the room for anything strange, but her recon was interrupted by the feeling of his hands wrapping around her back and pulling her snugly against him. As his mouth met hers in a slow, warm welcome, she almost forgot to be worried.

Pointing toward the sofa, he directed her toward the spot with a glass of wine in front of it. Part of her seemed to expect some sort of sexual whirlwind the moment she walked in the door. He was talking about something, though she didn't really have the ability to focus on his words. He asked her a question and when she finally responded, she said, "What are we doing?"

"About?"

"Why are we here, drinking wine and talking?"

"Because it's our free night and you like wine?"

"Just tell me what you're planning. Why couldn't we have done this at my place?"

"Because your place leads to your routine and your to-do list? Isn't it nice to have a night off, away from chores and mommy-reminders? It's like a night away at a hotel." He plopped onto the couch next to her and propped his bad leg on the coffee table.

"That's all?"

"That's all. And also there's the camera crew in my bedroom and twenty guys who paid for the chance to watch you masturbate, but I charged top dollar. We'll split the take." She half-heartedly scowled, her reservations easing. "Why are you so uptight about this?" he asked. "It isn't like you're unadventurous or inexperienced."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You're insulted that I think you're good in bed?"

"What did you tell Chase?" she interrupted. "Or Wilson, what did you tell them?" She looked at him with wide eyes.

"About you? Nothing. Well…nothing real."

She narrowed her eyes at him now. "You didn't tell them that I still masturbate the same way after thirty years and you were going to fix me?"

"Of course not. I seriously don't get why this bothers you so much?"

Cuddy sulked in her seat and waved her hand in the air. "You're making sweeping judgments about my sexuality and—"

House caught her hand. "You're the sexiest woman I've ever met. That's the only sweeping judgment about your sexuality that I could make. You're, somehow, so much hotter than you were even in my fantasies. That's why the way you masturbate seems to be such a shame. You treat me really well, so I don't get why you wouldn't be just as nice to yourself. The only one suffering from that is you."

There was a brief pause, then Cuddy looked at him with earnest eyes. "No one knows about last night?"

"Besides you and me? No one. Unless _you_ blabbed. I may like dangling the truth of us out in front of them, but I don't ever let them catch it. What we say…what we do when we're alone…all of that is between us."

She put her glass down, turning until her leg was over him. Once she was straddling his lap, she began to kiss him, hearing the satisfied breaths from deep in his chest. She pressed her pelvis down slowly into his lap while his arms spread out on the back of the sofa. He sat back, watching her entice him. The fact that she was willing to let him seduce _her_ still amazed him, but the fact that she also wanted to seduce _him_ still completely blew his mind. His eyes lingered over the little bit of cleavage he could see before his focus moved to her face. Her lips, turning a deeper shade of pink as she became more aroused, were parted slightly, just waiting to be captured.

Moving his hands to her waist, he didn't really direct her movement as much as allow his hands to feel the way she was already moving. After learning her desired rhythm, he started to move with her, allowing their bodies to mesh together and escalate the need. Her hand moved from his shoulder, her fingers trailing alluringly down his chest and over his stomach. He knew what she was doing, and he knew how much he wanted her to do it. He also knew how much hotter it would be to wait.

So he let her progress right to the top of his jeans, even waiting until her fingers were in place over his button before he stopped her. "We have something else to do first."

"Later," she answered, leaning forward and whispering, "Right now, I want you to fuck me."

It was a request he was seldom able to deny, but he shook his head, "I _really_ want to fuck you. And I will. Later." Convinced that she could persuade him, she continued shifting in his lap as she pulled her shirt over her head. "God, you are so incredibly hot," he groaned, considering giving in.

"Then why wait?" she answered.

But her reply reminded him of exactly why he wanted to wait. He grabbed her hands, bringing them together and pressing them against his chest. "Like I showed you last night, we're building need," he said in a low, conspiratorial voice. "I really want to watch you make yourself come, Cuddy. Not some quickie, to-do list completion…a real, whole body, thought-stopping _orgasm_ that makes you wonder why you bother ever doing anything else." He took a shaky breath just from imagining it. "I want that for you…and also for me. I want to stand against the line where I want something so bad it almost hurts, and then, when I can't even imagine _thinking_ about anything else, I want to take it."

She sat on his lap, completely still for a few moments when a flirty smile turned her lips, "Since you say it like that."

When they went back to his bedroom, she saw his chair pushed closer to the bed, and the fact that she knew he would be watching her so closely was both exciting and nerve-wracking, but everything that had happened on the sofa had already started to build the type of desire that naturally lowered her inhibitions a little. She sat on the bed, her legs folded up against her body. A bit uncomfortably she asked, "So you want me to just get started or…"

"Take the rest of your clothes off, get comfortable."

"What, everything?"

"Yes."

"Is this for my enjoyment or yours?" she asked skeptically.

"This is all for you." He smirked. "I'll try _not_ to enjoy it, but I can't make any promises."

It didn't take her long to disrobe and drop back down on the bed. Her hand reached almost immediately between her legs and she asked, "Okay, so?"

He sighed, "Don't do anything until I tell you. Put your hands on your stomach. You know for someone who's so hesitant to do this, you're awful eager to get busy."

Her head lifted and she was armed with a warning glare and he retracted, "Comments will be kept at a minimum. Now…close your eyes. Pick an image…something that reminds you of a time that was particularly arousing." He gave her a few moments to think before he continued, "Take your hands and let them feel your body. Feel the smoothness of your skin beneath your fingertips, the way your hand curves around your waist, just below your ribs. Feel your—"

She started to protest, "Um, that doesn't really do—"

"Fine. Sorry. I got distracted. Imagine they're someone else's hands. Imagine they're mine. Touch your body like I would, but you can direct where they go, what they do. Move your hand over the curve of your hip and along the side of your body toward your breast. "

As she started to act with less direction, he watched her almost reluctantly give in to her own touch. The changes in her were subtle, at first. Then her expression of reluctance transformed to something more neutral. She seemed to relax back into the bed and the occasional shift of her thighs spoke to her increasing excitement. He watched as her nipples pulled into tight peaks when her fingers finally made contact. Watching her hand roam her body, his mind recorded the bits of useful information: the amount of pressure she used, the particular motions that she started to repeat, the moments when her body was nearly still.

He'd grown quiet, consuming the scene before him to commit to permanent memory. She peeked through her eyelids when he didn't immediately offer the next instruction, and she saw it. She'd barely gotten started and he looked so turned on. His eyes were following her body, his mind willing her to act, and the sight of him so turned on by so little made her _want _this.

He licked his lower lip and said, "When you're ready, move your hands toward your thighs. Slowly, like I do when I slide down your body to go down on you."

Her body started to shift more as he could tell she was processing memories and fantasies, and he could see the very second when she really started to enjoy herself. Both of her hands moved down her stomach. Her left hand paused on her thigh, but the right hand covered her mound and waited for instructions. Her hips lifted just a little, anticipating attention where she was beginning to crave it. She couldn't help but press her fingers against her sex ever so slightly, barely a touch at all.

His mouth was dry, his voice hardly audible through his own deep need, but he whispered, "Go ahead. Press your fingers down over your pussy, feel the warmth of your body under your hand. Now let your middle finger move. Take your time, letting your finger glide the whole way along your slit, let your finger brush your clit each time but don't stay there. Don't focus too much. Keep moving. Each time anticipate the heavier, more intense moment when your finger brushes over your clit, but keep going."

She was more lost in the act at this point, her hips rising a little with each repeated stroke of her finger.

"Are you wet?" he asked in a sexually charged way that centered her entire body's feelings between her legs. She nodded, her heels digging a little more into the mattress as she lifted against her finger. He came closer and she stopped touching herself, reaching for him, "Keep going," he encouraged.

Hesitating when he held out a small vibrator, she shook her head, "I don't need that."

"I know you don't _need_ it. It'll feel good."

He slipped the vibrator into her right hand and instructed, "Now move that like you were moving your finger. Close your eyes and imagine my face between your legs, my tongue playing with you."

Her reaction to the increased stimulation was almost instantaneous. She moaned a little more this time, her back arching a bit, her head tipping back as she started to writhe more against her hand. He could sense the impending orgasm, she seemed right on the edge, ready to be pushed over with the slightest nudge when he spoke again, "Just wait. We're not done yet."

With great effort she kept moving the vibrator against her body, gritting her teeth while she tried to stave off her orgasm.

"Now, hold the vibrator over your clit with the heel of your hand and reach down, push your fingers inside. The vibrations will carry through your hand and –"

She was already doing what he was instructing, eagerly sliding two fingers into her body and sensing the warm clench of her muscles as she felt the vibrations all around her, from outside and within. Her fingers moved repeatedly into her body, her left hand holding her right hand in place so she could get more pressure from it. She was fucking her hand, riding the waves of the vibrator. His eyes traveled up her legs to her sex, watching the way her fingers disappeared into her body, the way her hips were rising up off of the bed, the way she was glistening with wetness.

Her voice cried out in the air, making sounds that she couldn't control as her reservations evaporated into uninhibited release. Her legs wound around each other because she couldn't wrap them around him, and she couldn't seem to decide if she wanted to keep going or if one more second of stimulation was far too much.

When her desire had completely unraveled, she rolled on her side, dropping the vibrator onto the bed next to her, still humming. Her hands were pressed against her sex as her cries settled to moans that eventually became heavy breaths. She ventured a look in his direction as her body's level of tension lowered. He reached out, clicking off the vibrator. His eyes were curious, horny and slightly awed. "Was that…alright?" he finally asked, a bit smugly.

She shook her head as she pulled her hair back from her face, "Yeah…it was _alright._"

"Now _that _was a lovely orgasm."

She stretched in his bed, her body loose in contrast to the tightly coiled need that he couldn't seem to ignore. She smiled at him, one of those evil, sexy, irresistible smiles, and said, "So… Your curiosity satisfied or shall I go for another."

He stood, yanking his shirt so roughly from his body that she wondered how the sleeves remained intact. "Uh, yeah. Curiosity satisfied. Let's move along now. Come on. Chop, chop." She laughed and helped him out of his jeans before she dragged him onto the bed. He started to devour her, kissing her neck, face, shoulders and breasts, anything he could get near. He hiked her legs around his waist because any more foreplay was completely out of the question. She rolled him under her and stayed just out of reach. "What's wrong?" he asked, urgently, almost pleading.

She lowered her body against his, allowing him inside her at a slow, patient pace, "Do you feel that?" she asked. "You feel this need?"

He smirked up at her as he realized she was repeating his words from the previous night's demonstration. "I feel it," he roughly answered.

She moved, separating from him and allowing him inside her again and again, "You have to feel this first for it to be good."

"I've felt this need for thirty years, Cuddy. I already know what it feels like."

She held still for a few seconds, overwhelmed and flattered by his draw to her. "Well, I'm here now," she offered. She swallowed hard. "So you can stop feeling that constant need…"

"Never," he announced, not with resignation but with a sense of adventure, rolling her back under him and plunging blissfully into her waiting body.

She gasped under the force of his entrance, arousal still at heightened levels from her masturbatory success. There was no hesitation left in him, no more reserves of patience or points to make. He was losing himself in her, in the tight, wet confines of her body as she flexed around him. Her fingers trailed along his neck and down his spine, eventually grabbing onto his ass to encourage him to keep finding pleasure within her. She was undulating, writhing beneath him in waves of passion that only served to strengthen his need.

She met each thrust with her hips, grinding her pelvis against him to feel that pressure against her clit. The moment her moans switched from desirous to orgasmic, he let go with an appreciative growl of release that was as overwhelming as he'd been patient. As they only haphazardly calmed down, they were still pressing against each other in sloppy, uncoordinated efforts to keep going simply because it still felt so good. When they were finally drained of energy, they released their spent bodies into the bed.

House rolled his head toward her and grinned. Cuddy was sexually sated and still warm-hearted from his proclamation of need for her, over their many years. She reached out and cupped the side of his face tenderly. His grin turned into an actual smile when he said, in the sweetest voice ever, "Now, would you go organize my DVDs already?"

[H] [H] [H]

House woke with a start and sat up to see Cuddy sliding her key out of the clinic door lock, then meeting his eyes with frustration. "What are you doing?" she moaned with exaggerated despair.

House rubbed one eye with the back of his hand and yawned luxuriously. "Power nap."

"Yeah? You need a little recharge between your other naps?"

"An interstitial nap."

"Calling it that doesn't make it acceptable." Cuddy walked over and pushed his legs off the side of the exam table.

"I need rest. You kept me up all night. I feel like I'm working two jobs." He smirked at her.

Cuddy crossed her arms in front of her. "Really? You poor thing. Maybe I should fire you from one of them." She narrowed her eyes.

"No, no," House said, holding his hands up defensively. He scooted down to his feet and began walking to the door. "I'm a good soldier." Cuddy followed. When they walked past her office and she didn't turn in, House asked, "Where are we going?"

"_I'm_ going up to see Wilson. I have to ask him something about a lawsuit."

House stopped abruptly. "_Wilson's_ getting _sued_?" he asked, incredulous.

Cuddy stepped back close to him and hissed quietly. "First of all, keep it down. Second of all," - she got as loud as him - "No, he isn't." She dropped her voice again. "He's testifying in a class action lawsuit. Legal needs me to go over a few things with him."

"Why didn't he tell me about it?" House asked as they started walking again.

"I don't know." Cuddy shrugged. "Maybe because you get obsessed with random bits of trivial information and slowly destroy our lives?"

As House stepped into the elevator, Cuddy continued walking toward the nearby stairwell. "Hey! Aren't you riding up with me?" House asked her, blocking the sliding door with his arm.

She paused and grinned mischievously. "I thought I'd take the stairs. Take my time. Really _need_ to see Wilson before I get there." She winked at him.

House made a frowny face. "But I can't take the stairs with you."

"You've taught me, House…" She grinned. "I can get to places on my own. Like a big girl." And she walked on.

The doors slid shut and House pouted. He was still mulling over what had just happened when the elevator lumbered to a stop one floor up. He was even more annoyed that now he'd have to ride the rest of the way with his least favorite person – someone else. He slumped in the corner looking as surly as possible to avoid any pleasantries, but when he glanced up from the metal floor briefly, there was Cuddy, slightly flushed. She stepped into the doorway and leaned against the door. "I _can_ do it on my own," she teased. "But I _want _to do it with you."

House grinned at her. "You're such a bitch," he pouted.

She walked to him and kissed his cheek. "I know." The elevator doors slid shut behind her.

"I hate you," he groused while he palmed her ass.

"I know," she said against his neck.

House sidestepped a little and reached out to pull the emergency stop button on the elevator, which came to an abrupt halt and left Cuddy teetering on her stilettos and falling against him. "You know, maybe I didn't give your efficient approach enough credit," he murmured. "It's very convenient in some contexts."

"House," Cuddy warned, reaching for the elevator button.

He caught her hand and pulled her closer. "I mean, a 'lovely orgasm' would really hit the spot after that nap. I could cure, maybe, _two_ people this afternoon."

"House," she sighed, exasperated with him. But House caught the words between his lips. As he kissed her, Cuddy began pressing closer against him, sliding her free hand up his stomach and the one he was holding over to his crotch. He let go so he could grab her ass and a breast at the same time – his favorite – and she gave a tantalizing moan… and released the stop button, causing them both to wobble as the elevator went into motion again. They reached their floor quickly and Cuddy smoothed herself while House leaned against the elevator wall, facing backwards, scowling. Cuddy stepped off and looked back at her dear motionless man. "You coming?" she sang.

"Unfortunately no. So now I need to ride this elevator for a few more minutes." Cuddy started laughing. "Laugh all you want. Don't come crying to me when some nurse files a sexual harassment complaint about the erection in elevator four." The doors were sliding shut and Cuddy stopped them, stepped half in and kissed his cheek again, still snickering. Then she murmured in his ear, "You feel this need, House?" And she clicked off to Wilson's.

And as soon as she was gone, he did.


End file.
